


It's Getting Dark

by bexpls



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, i banged this out in an hour to try and get rid of my emotion, opportunity, yes the mars rover, yes this has probably been done i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 14:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexpls/pseuds/bexpls
Summary: In memory of Opportunity, 2003-2019.Opportunity died in Bill's future, but she still wants to mourn him. As it happens, so does the Doctor.Partially inspired by the prologue and epilogue to Alien Bodies by Lawrence Miles.





	It's Getting Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't checked but someone must have already done something like this. Sorry if they have. I promise I wasn't intentionally copying.

“I have a compromise,” said the Doctor after several long minutes.

They had been arguing about whose turn it was to choose where to go next for the past half an hour. That wasn’t even an exaggeration. Bill had insisted that it was _her_ turn to choose, because it was. This taking-it-in-turns strategy was really beginning to piss her off; or, more accurately, the Doctor constantly ignoring the strategy was really beginning to piss her off. She’d suggest a destination, and the Doctor would say, ‘Oh, but I’d thought of a lovely moon we could go to and collect some rock samples to _really_ confuse the head of department at the university’, or ‘But Bill, I’m absolutely _certain_ that I can get us into an Iron Maiden concert this time around’, or ‘No, Bill, I know you enjoyed it but I think that going to London Pride 1972 five times is enough’.

She would listen to a compromise. Maybe.

“I will let you choose where we go next,” he began, “on the condition that it has something to do with your studies.”

“My studies,” she said.

“Yes. Something physics-y. Einstein’s first lecture in England, for example. CERN, the day they proved the existence of the tachyon? Or could I tempt you with –“

Bill looked at him.

“Ah right, sorry. Your choice, like I said.” He stepped back from the console, as if inviting her to input the coordinates herself. Like she had any idea how to do that. She would have to ask him to teach her one day.

“Do you remember that Mars Rover thing?” she said. “Opportunity? I think they launched it in 2003?”

The Doctor blinked. “Yes.”

“I want to see that. I mean, I suppose we’d have to keep quite far back, so it doesn’t see us and really screw with the heads of the people at NASA –“

“What year is it for you?” interrupted the Doctor. “I always forget.”

Bill narrowed her eyes. “2017. Why?”

“Opportunity died. Well, will die. In two years.”

“No!” said Bill. “But it was lasting for _ages._ I was starting to think it was immortal. What happened?”

The Doctor shrugged. “In mid-2018, a storm hit Mars. Dust covered Opportunity’s solar panels, effectively disabling it. They tried for eight months to get it working again, but nothing made any difference. They declared the mission over in early 2019. So, it’s dead. Its corpse lies on the surface of Mars, untouched for centuries.”

“That sucks,” said Bill, then realised she was actually, properly sad. Was that daft? To be feeling sad that a robot, which had never been alive, had switched off?

“Your feelings are justified,” said the Doctor, apparently reading her expression. “It was one of the most advanced machines of its time. Practically had a personality, although that particular feature wasn’t intentionally included. But humans made the mistake of anthropomorphising something that would inevitably have to be left behind.” He paused. “So did I.”

“Never thought I would mind about a robot’s death,” said Bill. “Well, maybe Nardole’s. Can we still see it?”

“Nardole? Yes, I think he’s in Betws-y-Coed, fetching some Welsh cakes –“

“I mean Opportunity,” said Bill. “Please?”

“We can’t,” said the Doctor. “It would see us. I’m not exactly in NASA’s good books as it is, so I can’t imagine that them receiving a picture of me petting the robot’s head would make them like me again.”

“What if we go when it’s dead?” said Bill quietly.

“Why?”

“We can hold a funeral,” she said, “or something. A memorial. Write something on a stone and put it next to it. Just so it knows it’s not forgotten.”

“Bill, it’s just a _robot_ –“

“But people care about it,” she persisted. “I mean, if I’m sad about it now, surely tons of people are sad about it in 2019?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” said the Doctor, and did that thing he always does where he glances to the side as if saying ‘get a load of this human’ at a camera that isn’t there.

“So? We can just go a few weeks after it’s switched off, when it can’t alert NASA to tell you off. Why not?”

The Doctor looked at her for quite a while. Then he smiled.

“In that case,” he said. “You’d better fetch a chisel.”

 

They remained almost silent the whole time they were on Mars. The Doctor landed only a few yards away from Opportunity, and the sight of it sitting there, head drooped forlornly, almost made her start crying there and then. They walked over to it, the Doctor pausing on the way to pick up a decently-sized stone.

Then they stood in front of it, Bill holding the chisel in front of her like a shield. The Doctor glanced at her, nudged her, _go on, you write on the stone._ But she couldn’t think of anything to say. What do you say to commemorate the memory of a bloody robot?

In the end, the Doctor gently prised the chisel from her hands and crouched down to write the message himself. It took a while. Eventually, Bill started to circle the robot, taking in its features. She had no experience of engineering, no idea what it took to build a robot like this, but she understood the concept of beauty. And this was definitely beautiful.

She saw a film of red dust coating the top of Opportunity like a light covering of snow. This was it, the reason for its death. End of mission. Whatever. Chance seized her, and she leaned forward, hand outstretched.

“Don’t,” said the Doctor, and she looked up. He was watching her. Bill drew her hand back slowly, then put both hands behind her back to show she wasn’t thinking of trying again when he wasn’t looking. She really wasn’t. She knew without the Doctor having to say anything that it was a bad idea.

She sat down in the sand, not caring about the state it would make of her jeans. Just stared at Opportunity. She was one of the last people who would, at least for a while. Would humans colonise Mars in the future? They probably would. They colonised everything.

Maybe that would be a good thing. One day, people would find Opportunity again and take it home. Put it in a museum.

 _Would_ that be a good thing? Opportunity’s mission had been to explore Mars, not the inside of a dusty glass case. The magnificent desolation of the red planet would be a better final resting place for it than anywhere else.

She wouldn’t think about that. Wouldn’t think about the future, for once. Better to concentrate on giving it a good send-off.

The Doctor stood up, bent down to position the stone so that it sat directly in front of Opportunity. Bill circled back around to read it.

_Opportunity_

_Friend to the stars, and to us all._

“That’s nice,” murmured Bill.

The Doctor nodded. Bill wanted to say something else, but her throat was thick and she thought she might cry.

“Opportunity brought humans some of the best photos of Mars ever taken,” said the Doctor. “All but confirmed the previous existence of water on the planet. Took some amazing selfies.”

Bill laughed.

“Ninety days, it was supposed to live for, and what does it do? Lasts for fifteen years. Just goes to show, really.” He lowered his gaze. “Following the rules never got you anywhere.”

Bill nudged him with her elbow. “Thank you for bringing me. And for doing this.”

The Doctor smiled. “This is not my first space-explorer funeral,” he said, and Bill didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. She looped her arm around his and leant her head against his shoulder as they paid Opportunity their final, silent respects.


End file.
